Forever Yours
by WickedPhoenix
Summary: In Mourning for Sirius, Harry Potter is saved by his Aunt Petunia, and taken in by his Headmaster. Rated Mature due to implied Child Abuse, this story is no-ship. As of yet, I expect it to be quite long. Enjoy, and please review. Albus isn't dead! Enjoy


Chapter One: Downcast Eyes, Heavy Heart

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. I wished!

Note: Thanks to my wonderful beta Blueowl, for all her awesome help and suggestions!

It was hot, blessedly hot in the day. July was always hot though, in Little Whinging. Perhaps, it was the weather, Harry had always felt like it was a bit like magic. He could never quite be sure. It felt like that though, stealing the life from the very air.

Taking with it the green of the grass and the water of the sky. He desperately disliked summer, the dry season in specific. For more than one reason perhaps. He felt the tug of his shirt against his back and sighed, pushed his glasses up his nose and very slowly sat up from where he'd been listening to the TV from under the window sill at Number Four, Privet Drive.

Messy black hair was caked with dirt from the work of weeding. He didn't mind weeds though. He almost felt sorry for them. He heaved another sigh, and looked towards the air conditioned house quietly.

All was not well at "home" he thought to himself, a little bitterly. Where was the famous order of the phoenix? Where was their protection, when he needed it most.

Thoughts of his godfather he lingered over, having found that in this forced separation, or rather, the death of his beloved Godfather, that he'd taken to thinking about the man, dwelling on the smiles, and the way that he hugged him.

It was his own private way of mourning, he supposed, to cherish the mentality and the thoughts of the man, since he had nothing else to leave for him. Remembering him for his pranks, and the laughs, and his stories, seemed the best way. It hadn't been Sirius's fault, after all.

His thoughts took a dive nose back to the Dursley's and he shook his head. He'd seen something that bothered him, more than he ever dreamed possible — the livid bruise this weekend, on his Aunt's neck.

For a sickened moment, he'd stared in horror. Fear had coursed through him. Was she another victim of Vernon Dursley? He'd noticed that this year, she watched him, carefully, an almost desperation on her face at times. But it was always carefully done, when she thought he wasn't watching. He watched her more than once look at him through the panes of glass and the reflection there.

Perhaps it was because he had his own pain now, that he was able to recognize the glimpses where she looked like she wanted to bawl when she looked at him.

She did tend to try to keep her husband away from him, he'd noticed, and the whole situation confused him. One moment she was quietly ignoring him to the best of her abilities, the next, hateful and vindictive.

But he'd caught onto something, for the very first time. He'd thought about it for a very long time, running the things over in his mind. Petunia was only bad when Vernon was around. In private, she tended to treat him rather well, all things considered. Granted, never "nice" but she made sure he had a bit of food, a glass of milk, or a piece of fruit.

It was to that misfortune, that had gotten him the stripes of hurt on his back. He'd been in the kitchen, doing the dishes, and his uncle had been outside showing Dudley a new remote control car that they'd bought him.

He shook his head slightly, when his Aunt had paused, she'd reached out towards him, and he'd watched it almost in slow motion. She'd stopped her hand in mid-air, but for a moment, he'd thought she was going to touch him. Instead, she shoved an apple into his hand and told him gently to go take a shower. What scared him however, was that she hadn't hid that she'd been fit to bawl when she'd done it.

For a second, she'd rested a hand on his shoulder, the only touch that he'd received from her in many years. A gentle thing, as if trying to show him a tiny bit of compassion. The door had slammed open, and they'd both jumped, but beady eyes had taken in the gentle hand on his shoulder.

They'd jumped apart like they'd both been burned. Her voice had turned hard, almost viscous as she sent him up the stares towards the shower in a voice that showed a good bit of strain. He had been able to hear the yelling for long hours into the night.

The scent of whiskey was strong when Vernon opened the door later that night. He'd woken immediately, and looked straight up into the darkened face of Vernon Dursley. His face looked like a thundercloud.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he listened as the man started to yell at him.

He had winced away from him when he'd drew off his belt and closed his eyes, even as a meaty hand turned him around. He'd learned very early that fighting his uncle off didn't help. If anything, it made it worse. So he'd stood still, and taken it like a man.

He mentally groused to himself, the man hadn't even the courtesy to make up a reason for the punishment this time. He hadn't even bothered to make up a flimsy excuse. Just took the belt to him to take out his frustration.

The next morning, Petunia had met him at the sink wordlessly, her face white and strained. She handed him the bacon, but the stiff way she moved terrified him. Then he'd caught a glimpse as she'd turned, the vivid dark bruise hidden almost perfectly by the collar of her blouse.

He shook his head, and stared at a bit of grass. He picked at it, and then made his way into the house. Petunia, in a rare show of courage, met him at the door with a glass of lemonade, and for a moment he stared at her astonished.

He took the glass and she nodded toward the upstairs, a clear indication that he was to get himself clean, and take him and his drink elsewhere.

Maybe if he wished hard enough, something, everything, _anything_ could change.

He moved carefully into the shower, biting a washcloth to keep from screaming as the welts from the belt met cold water, but he knew he'd be worse off if he didn't get them clean now. They'd hurt less later too, and maybe even heal a bit. It was something he had unfortunately learned early in life.

He had just headed towards his room when he'd all but ran into Vernon. The man's bellow of rage shook him, and a large meaty fist reached up for his hair. He instinctively ducked his head and covered it with his hands.

Not that it mattered; the man grabbed the back of his neck instead, and forced him towards the bedroom. He cried out as he fell over the entry way, landed on his stomach. It knocked the air out of him, and for a moment he saw sparkles in the air around him. He heard the chilling sound of the belt releasing, and scrambled towards the bed.

"Please Uncle Vernon, I'm sorry...." Tears threatened to gather at the corner of his eyes. Vernon might belt him occasionally, but never so close together. He cowered against the bed, on his stomach, as the belt descended on the fresh welts. He felt the first one split open, and he cried out against the pillow that he grabbed. Holding it to him to muffle the sound. His shame.

Again and again the belt fell, and he whimpered against the pillow desperately, but he refused to let a tear fall. Was he going to stop? Was the thought that fell after several blows, and the man didn't let up. It was the first time he was actually scared, in a very long time, of Vernon. With that fear, came the tears, crying almost desperately.

A whistle of the belt as if flew through the air distracted him, and he realized as pain blossomed anew that Vernon had turned his belt around. The buckle was now striking him. He curled up into a fetal position, his hands over his head, trying to protect his vital organs as it hit him again and again.

He felt pain appear on his legs, curled up as he was, and even across the knuckles of one of his hands. Fiery pain that drove the breath from him. His only thought was that perhaps, he would die this time.

It seemed very likely that Vernon Dursley had no intention of stopping this time.

Even as he felt the blessed darkness slipping up behind him, he'd reached up to catch the belt buckle, barely recognizing that his hand was _glowing._

His magic felt wild, under his hands; and for a split second, he recognized it as the same feeling as when he'd accidently popped to the school roof to get away from Dudley as a child.

Even as his eyes rolled back into his head, his magic fully released, even though he tried to fight it. But it was determined to save him as he collapsed into unconsciousness. It reached out, and flung Vernon Dursley, shocked eyes and all, through the door, pushing him out it.

Slamming him into the wall across the hallway. The locks on the door vanished at the same time. The door slammed shut loudly in the dark house.

Vernon slowly picked himself up, and with a strange look on his face, rushed down the hallway, toward the front door. Moments later the sound of a car pulling out passed through the neighborhood.

On the flood of Dudley's Second bedroom, a young man laid on his stomach, unconscious as blood rolled down his back, his hand curled protectively against his stomach.


End file.
